That Potter Boy (Rewrite)
by HufflepuffBanana
Summary: Rewrite of "That Potter Boy", AU, Slytherin!Harry, Manipulative!Dumbledore, eventual HPDM slash. Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, is sure he knows where he'll be Sorted—until, at least, the Sorting Hat decides that Potter belongs elsewhere. He must grapple with friends, enemies, and more to know where he truly belongs.
1. Arguments with the Sorting Hat

**Title:** That Potter Boy (Rewrite)

**Summary:** Rewrite of "That Potter Boy", AU, Slytherin!Harry, Manipulative!Dumbledore, eventual HPDM slash. Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, is sure he knows where he'll be Sorted—until, at least, the Sorting Hat decides that Potter belongs elsewhere. He must grapple with friends, enemies, and more to know where he truly belongs.

**Warnings:** Language, **violence**, **torture**, het _and_ slash _and_ femslash, politics, **character death** (both major and minor, both good and bad), **emotional distress**

**Notes:** So I wrote the original version of That Potter Boy a while ago, but I didn't have much of an outline, and didn't really have any sort of idea as to where I wanted the story to go. I'm actually rewriting several of my stories, in case you didn't know, so this is the rewrite for my Odd Turn of Events Series. (I'm also going to be rewriting my time-travel AU Time, just to let you know, in case you read my original version). At the moment, I'm unsure if I will write this as one long file or seven separate stories, so I added warnings for all seven years, as well as marked the genre for all seven years, just in case. And I think that's it. So here we go, I suppose.

**Disclaimer:** Any recognizable characters, settings, events, concepts, spells, and objects belong, not to me, but to JK Rowling. I am not claiming ownership of them, and intend no copyright infringement. I am writing this story for fun, not for profit. (Also, I do _not_ own the Sorting Hat's song that is included in this first chapter.)

**Chapter One: Arguments with the Sorting Hat**

Harry paid close attention to the Sorting Hat's song, hoping to gain some sort of information from it. He didn't know much about the Houses, after all, and even though an old hat's song was hardly a reliable source of information, Harry supposed that it was better than nothing.

_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_if you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folks use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The student body applauded. To Harry's right, Ron looked confused and slightly disturbed. Harry felt the same way.

"Does it sing that every year?" he whispered to the redhead.

Ron shrugged, and, the moment the rest of the students stopped clapping, Ron did, too.

Professor McGonagall unrolled the scroll she was holding, and began to read. "Abbott, Hannah!"

Hannah stepped cautiously out of the clump of first years and sat on the three-legged stool. Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on the girl's head, and moments later, the Hat declared, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Boot, Terry!" and "Brocklehurst, Mandy!" both went to Ravenclaw. Then "Brown, Lavender!" became the first new Gryffindor, and "Bulstrode, Millicent!" the first new Slytherin. "Corner, Michael!" and "Cornfoot, Stephen!" were both sent to Ravenclaw, and "Crabbe, Vincent!"—one of the boys who had followed Malfoy on the train—and "Davis, Tracey!" both became new Slytherins.

Harry fought the urge to tune the Sorting out; he was much too interested. _Besides,_ he thought, _if there are any more people like Malfoy, any more people who I need to watch out for, I can figure that out here._

"Entwhistle, Kevin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Finnigan, Seamus!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Goldstein, Anthony!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Goyle, Gregory!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

Goyle was Malfoy's other...friend? No, Malfoy seemed to treat Crabbe and Goyle more like servants than friends.

"Granger, Hermione!"—the girl from the train—sat on the stool for almost a minute before being Sorted into Gryffindor. Next to Harry, Ron audibly groaned.

"Greengrass, Daphne!" was then sent to Slytherin, and both "Hopkins, Wayne!" and "Jones, Megan!" to Hufflepuff.

The names were quickly approaching Harry's. Harry was nervous. He would have appreciated it if this entire ordeal occurred in private, instead of in front of the entire student body _and_ all of the teachers, Harry thought, as "Li, Sue!" was made a Slytherin.

"Longbottom, Neville!" who Harry recognized as the boy who kept losing his toad, sat on the stool for nearly five minutes before the Hat decided to place him in Gryffindor. He had even run off wearing the Hat, and had to jog back, laughing, to give it to "MacDougal, Morag!" who was then Sorted into Hufflepuff. "Macmillan, Ernest!" followed her to the same table.

The hat had barely touched Malfoy's head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!" Harry wasn't surprised. He hadn't heard much about Slytherins, but Malfoy fit the description of what he had heard, at least so far.

McGonagall was getting close to Harry's name.

"Malone, Roger!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Moon, Lily!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Nott, Theodore!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Parkinson, Pansy!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Patil, Padma!" was Sorted into Ravenclaw, and then her twin sister, "Patil, Parvati!" went to Gryffindor. "Perks, Sally-Anne!" followed and was also made a Gryffindor, and then—

"Potter, Harry!"

Harry felt frozen to his place. Ron gave him an encouraging little nudge, and Harry shuffled up to the stool. The whispers bothered him.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

"Can you see his scar?"

"I dunno, he looks smaller than I imagined him..."

Harry sat down on the stool, and felt the Hat drop over his head. It didn't quite cover his eyes, so Harry closed them, not wishing to see the entire Hall staring at him.

_Difficult, indeed,_ said the Hat into his mind. Harry half-jumped, half-jerked, not expecting it. He heard some muffled chuckling from the direction of the Slytherin table. _No one can question your courage_, said the Hat, again into his mind (Harry supposed that was how communication with the Hat worked), _or your loyalty...your intelligence isn't bad, either, and you could grow up to possess great ambition, if you wanted to._

_Not Slytherin_, thought Harry. _Not Slytherin, not Slytherin_.

_Not Slytherin, eh? Why not? You know, you could be great there. It's all here, in your head_. If hats had arms, Harry was certain that the Sorting Hat would be pointing to Harry's head—

_Please, not Slytherin_.

—and if hats could smile, the Hat would be smiling apologetically. _I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but it's where you belong._

_No, please_—

"SLYTHERIN!"

The Hat's announcement was met by silence. And then Malfoy—of all people, _Malfoy_!—stood up and began to applaud loudly. A few older Slytherins joined in, giving scattered applause, but otherwise, Harry walked to the Slytherin table to be greeted by one person clapping.

"Do you think it's funny to embarrass me?" Harry hissed as he took the empty seat next to Malfoy.

"I wasn't aware that I was embarrassing you," Malfoy drawled, smirking. "I was simply welcoming the newest member of House Slytherin."

Harry glared at him, and turned back to the Sorting, hunched over. In the clump off remaining first years, Ron had turned his head, staring and gaping at Harry. He shook his head back and forth. Harry winced. He and Ron had finally found some sort of friendship with each other, and now Harry could bear to meet the betrayed look in Ron's eyes.

But the Sorting continued, even after the pure shock that everyone had felt after Harry—the Boy-Who-Lived!—was Sorted into Slytherin. Harry didn't pay as much attention this time, but enough to know that "Rivers, Oliver!" quickly became a Ravenclaw, and "Roper, Sophie!" a Hufflepuff. "Runcorn, Alyza!" and "Smith, Sally!" followed, both taking seats at the Ravenclaw table.

"Thomas, Dean!" then went to Gryffindor, andHarry couldn't help the feeling akin to jealously slice through him. "Turpin, Lisa!" became a Ravenclaw, and then in was Ron's turn.

"Weasley, Ronald!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry winced. He knew he shouldn't have done so, but he had dared to hope that maybe Ron would ask the Sorting Hat to put him in the same House as Harry. Harry wasn't surprised that he evidently hadn't, or that it hadn't worked.

"Zabini, Blaise!" then sat next to Harry at the Slytherin table, and then the Sorting Ceremony was over.

Harry paid little attention to the few words that Headmaster Dumbledore spoke next, and then sat hunched over the table, eating nothing.

"People are going to think you're sulking if you don't eat, you know," said Malfoy from Harry's right. Harry turned his head to glare at the blonde. To his surprise, Malfoy wasn't smirking, or sneering, or visibly mocking him, as far as Harry could tell. But he didn't seem concerned, either, just...expressionless.

Harry looked away from Malfoy, not wishing to speak to him or deal with him any longer, and piled a few pieces of steak onto his plate.

Malfoy, however, did not take the hint. As he cut his own steak, he said almost conversationally, "You know, Potter, I think it's good that you're in Slytherin. The world can have its precious Boy-Who-Lived, and you save the world or whatever, and Slytherin gets its glory back."

"Malfoy, I don't really care about Slytherin glory," Harry said bitterly.

"Well, Potter, you're a Slytherin now. Deal with it. You'll care soon enough."

Harry rolled his eyes, sighed, and shoveled steak into his mouth to avoid responding.

A few minutes later, Malfoy seemed to, temporarily, at least, lose his mocking, tough demeanor when he asked, "Do you want some pumpkin juice, Harry?"

Malfoy had decided to call him by his first name? This was news to Harry. But he could at least humor Malfoy for now, and deal with him later, and get him to leave Harry alone. So he nodded, forced a rather grim-looking smile, and said, "Thank you, Draco."

Draco simply smirked.

* * *

Draco poured the pumpkin juice, so he had an excuse to keep watching Harry. The boy was...interesting, so far, Draco supposed. Draco hadn't missed the panicked expression Harry had worn when the Hat declared him a Slytherin, nor had he missed the betrayed look that the Weasley had given Harry. Draco smirked. It was like Harry hadn't _expected_ to be a Slytherin. The so-called "Boy-Who-Lived" was expected to save the Wizarding world, and while Draco had never thought that very practical—who would trust a _child_ to rid the world of the Dark Lord _again_, when doing it one time was shocking enough?—he decided that ambition and some cunning was necessary. Prime Slytherin traits.

He was slightly confusing, though, too. He had ignored Draco—which Draco couldn't believe; Harry was just a half-blood, and he had the nerve to ignore _Draco_! A _Malfoy_!—and then snapped at him, and now he was calling Draco by his first name. Lucius had told Draco that, if possible, to gain information on Harry. But Harry was _interesting_, and, until Draco had discovered all the ways in which he was interesting, he wasn't going to spy on Harry. Not yet.


	2. Impressing the Potions Master

Hey, look, it's another chapter. Woo. Oh, and it's almost three thousand words, yay.

**Chapter Two: Impressing the Potions Master**

When Harry flung back the silver-and-green hangings of his bed—and when his glasses were in place, so that his vision wasn't blurred—he saw that Draco stood on the side of his bed closest to Harry. He was fully dressed, despite it being only six-thirty, and showed no visible traces of being tired. He was straightening his tie, staring into the mirror on the wall.

Harry, on the other hand, showed _very_ visible signs of exhaustion. He'd barely gotten only sleep the night before, for he had laid awake in his bed, thinking about what might have happened had he been placed in Gryffindor. He stumbled to the bathroom, earning smirks from Draco and Blaise Zabini both.

Both boys infuriated Harry, he thought as he tried (and, of course, failed) to flatten out his hair. After Harry's little "conversation" with Draco, the blonde had started up a conversation with Blaise about "blood purity," whatever that was. Harry, despite his confusion, hadn't asked what that was. The few times he _had_ voiced his questions about the Wizarding world, he had received condescending smirks but no answers.

Harry turned the sink on, and ducked his head under the faucet. Only decent amounts of water poured onto his head seemed to keep Harry's hair flat; and, even then, it rarely lasted for a long time. When he exited the bathroom, Draco shot him yet another infuriating smirk, silently bragging about how effortlessly _his_ hair lay flat.

Harry ignored him. He didn't want to spend too much time with Draco and Blaise, for fear that their behavior would rub off on him. Greg and Vince were moderately tolerable, as they rarely spoke and, for the most part, remained expressionless. Harry wanted to escape the Slytherins and repair his friendship with Ron, but he thought that it would be unlikely. Ron showed a strong dislike for Slytherins before they had even arrived at Hogwarts. He was unsure as to how heightened Ron's dislike would be, now that they were in the castle, and House prejudices seemed to be almost enforced.

The moment that Harry exited the Slytherin common room, shutting the door behind him so that it blended with the wall, whispers followed him constantly. Many were of shock that the Boy-Who-Lived, of all people, had been Sorted into Slytherin. A few were of pure amazement, and, dare he think, awe, that the Boy-Who-Lived had finally arrived at Hogwarts.

Harry found it difficult to ignore the constant whispers, so he distracted himself by pulling his course schedule out of the pocket of his robes. The first class, before break, was a double-period Potions classes with the Gryffindors. Draco had smirked at him when he knew that Harry had read that part, and Harry had glared at him before moving on. He was certain that Draco would mock him and tease him for wishing to repair his friendship with Ron, despite inter-House friendships, as he had heard, being very rare. Even in the Slytherin common room, the students seemed to stick with Housemates of their year. There were a few exceptions, such as a third and fourth year who Harry thought were nearly inseparable, but that was about it. Inter-year friendships were rare enough; inter-_House_ friendships seemed to be almost unheard of.

He had reached the Great Hall by then, having memorized the rather short path between the Slytherin common room and the Great Hall the night before. His eyes scanned the Gryffindor table. Ron hadn't arrived yet. Harry was only awake because he was used to waking early, having been forced to since he was seven and knew how to cook. Well, cook for the Dursleys, at least, and Dudley. And most of what Dudley ate was fast food and candy, so Harry didn't have to do much cooking for his cousin. Ron hadn't lived in the same conditions, and classes didn't start until nine o'clock, so it made sense that he wasn't awake yet.

Breakfast had only started thirty minutes ago, so Harry still had time. The first years had been told, by the prefects, that Professor Snape, the Potions Master, was a harsh teacher. He was also Head of Slytherin, and supposedly favored the Slytherins, which the Prefect had announced rather smugly. But Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, and something told him that Snape would dislike him, so he had decided to look through _Magical Draughts and Potions_ before Potions class began. As he wolfed down a couple of waffles, quickly read through his textbook, stopping at interesting-looking paragraphs or words that he didn't recognize. If Snape asked him any questions, Harry decided by around seven thirty, then Harry was mildly prepared. If Snape asked for details, then he would be in trouble, but Harry thought that he could manage basic answers.

Ron entered the Great Hall, then, engaging in conversation with Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas. Harry looked his way hopefully, but Ron just turned his head and talked more loudly.

Harry sighed. He decided that he would try to talk to Ron after classes were over, and tell him that he _wasn't_ Slytherin, and that the Hat had made a mistake, and that he _wanted_ to be a Gryffindor, and that he still wanted to be Ron's friend, and that he wanted to spend as little time as possible around people like Draco and Blaise, and that—

_We'll have a conversation this afternoon_, Harry mentally promised Ron. _I don't want him to hold prejudices against me. All the other Slytherins__—especially Draco—might be slimy snakes, but I'm not. And I won't become one, either._

Draco and Blaise, flanked by Greg and Vince, entered the Great Hall, then. Ron made a disgusted face at them, and Draco seemed like he was going to argue and insult Ron when Professor McGonagall swept between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, and stepped in front of the boys.

"Is there a problem, boys?" Harry distantly heard her ask.

Draco shook his head, said something, and looked expectantly at Ron. Ron shook his head, too, and lowered his chin to his throat. Harry watched with sympathy as Ron made his way to the Gryffindor table, Dean and Neville following him.

Draco and the other first year Slytherin boys sat at the Slytherin table near Harry. Harry mentally sighed, wishing that they'd sit somewhere else. Maybe if they did, then Ron wouldn't think that he _wanted_ to be in Slytherin when he really didn't, not in the slightest. Draco seemed to read that thought from Harry's mind, and smirked.

"Missing Weasley, Potter?"

"I thought you were calling me Harry, now," Harry said dryly.

"You didn't answer my question, _Harry_. No one ignores a Malfoy."

Harry rolled his eyes and ignored that comment. "Ron's my first friend that I thought that I would get to see on a regular basis, so _yes,_ Draco, I'm sort of missing him."

Draco and Blaise exchanged smirks at this, Draco even chuckling slightly.

"Listen, Potter," said Blaise. "You're a Slytherin, now. Weasley's a Gryffindor. And Slytherins don't hang around with Gryffindors or Mudbloods or blood-traitors or anyone who's unworthy of our attention."

"I'm not Slytherin, Zabini," argued Harry. "The Hat made a mistake."

"No one who's chosen for Slytherin is ever 'not a Slytherin,'" Blaise retaliated. "Slytherins are the worthy students, and if you're not Slytherin, then you're not worthy. And if you're not worthy, that the Hat wouldn't have declared you a Slytherin. Accept it, Potter. You're a Slytherin, and you always will be. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin. And people like Weasley are unworthy of your attention."

"Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin," repeated Ron from the next table, the Gryffindor table. Harry closed his eyes. The table arrangements were going to cause a lot of problems in the next seven years, Harry knew. "And once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. Of course, I don't really see the difference between the two. Slytherin, Death Eater...same thing." Ron shrugged innocently, and glanced at Seamus Finnigan, who nodded in agreement.

Harry met Ron's gaze. "I don't want to be in Slytherin, Ron," he said.

"Oh, of course, you don't," said Ron dryly. "If you didn't _want_ to be in Slytherin, Potter—" Harry inwardly flinched from Ron's use of his surname, "—then you would have told the Hat not to put you there, wouldn't you? I told it to put me in Gryffindor, and it listened to _me_."

"I _did_ tell it, or at least I tried—"

"That hat would have made you a Gryffindor anyway, Weasley," Draco sneered. "You and the rest of your blood-traitor family."

"Oh, you shut your mouth, Malfoy. I'm twice the wizard you'll ever be and you know it. You and your family and your blood elitism is just a load of rubbish. And _you_, Potter," Ron added, pointing an accusing finger at Harry, "you _betrayed_ me. I finally found myself a friend, and then you ran off to Slytherin to become a servant of You-Know-Who."

"You-Know-Who killed my _parents_, Ron. Why would I go over to his side?"

"Because you're a _Slytherin_, that's why! They're all the same: they're Sorted, they become evil, and then they all go and join You-Know-Who and his merry band of Death Eaters. For all I know, you'll _ignore_ the fact that he killed your parents, and together you'll work to destroy the world, Wizarding _and_ Muggle!"

"I'm not going to become a servant of You-Know-Who, Ron," said Harry calmly.

"_Yes_, you _will_, because you're a _Slytherin_. You all turn Dark at some point." And he turned back around in his seat, aggressively eating his pancakes.

Harry sighed, Draco smirked, Blaise sneered.

"Gee, am I excited to have Potions with him," Draco mocked sarcastically. Blaise chuckled.

Harry gazed sadly at the back of Ron's head, placing _Magical Draughts and Potions_ back into his bag. At eight forty-five, Harry stood up and exited the Great Hall, not wishing to be late for Potions. The other Slytherins arrived eventually, and then the Gryffindors. When Ron entered, he glared sharply at Harry before leading Dean to a desk at the other side of the classroom.

When Snape himself swooped into the Potions classroom, largely resembling an overgrown bat, in his long black cloak, Harry had to admit that he was an intimidating teacher. He immediately began class by taking attendance. He stopped when he reached Harry's name.

"Harry Potter," he said. "Our new..._celebrity_."

Next to Vince at the desk in front of Harry, Blaise hid a chuckle into the palm of his hand. Harry glanced at Draco; he was smirking, as usual. Harry wasn't surprised; it seemed to be Draco's default expression. Harry would simply try to not let it bother him.

When Snape finished roll call, he immediately turned on Harry again. Attempting an unafraid appearance, Harry gazed right up at Snape.

"Mr. Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry, having seen the words in _Magical Draughts and Potions_, and not recognized them, thought that he could manage a basic answer. "The Draught of Living Death, sir."

Snape had most likely been expecting Harry to not know, and to embarrass himself in front of the class. But he showed no sign of surprise. Then, he asked, "Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry was unsure. He knew that he had read the odd word in his textbook, but it had been an hour and a half ago, and he was fuzzy on the details. He tried not to let his uncertainty creep into his voice, though, as he answered, "In the stomach of a goat, sir."

Harry was relieved when Snape made no move to correct him.

"Mr. Potter, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry hesitated, and dared not hope he'd impressed Snape. "They're the same plant, sir," he answered, refraining from making it a question. Then Snape would embarrass him for his uncertainty, he was sure of it.

Snape nodded curtly. "Five points to Slytherin for displaying some actual study skills."

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief and glanced over at the Gryffindor side of the room. During Snape's series of questions, Hermione Granger's hand seemed to have taken a life of its own, creeping slowly into the air; Snape ignored her, and turned on Ron.

"And you, Mr. Weasley, what are the ingredients of a Boil Cure potion?"

Ron tightened his jaw and gestured to Hermione, whose hand had been thrust into the air. "I think Hermione knows, why don't you ask her?"

A few students chuckled lightly, but Snape showed no traces of amusement. "I asked _you_, Mr. Weasley."

"I don't know," Ron said through gritted teeth. Harry sympathized. He didn't know either (he didn't know a lot of things, about the Wizarding world, but that didn't matter at this point). Out of everyone in the class, it seemed that only Hermione did.

Snape sneered. "Five points from Gryffindor for displaying a severe _lack_ of study skills."

Ron flushed. From next to Harry, Draco smirked and hid a chuckle. Harry glared at him, and Draco's smirk grew.

Harry didn't listen to Snape's following speech, and he didn't worry about getting too many steps wrong. He had grown accustomed to following long and complex directions from his childhood—if you would really call it that—with the Dursleys.

With a single wave of his wand, ingredients and instructions for the potion that they were brewing in class—the Cure for Boils potion that Snape had asked Ron about—appeared on the chalkboard. Harry had no trouble following them. In fact, he took control of the brewing part, leaving an annoyed Draco to retrieve the ingredients. Harry followed the directions carefully, rereading each step twice before he took action. His and Draco's potion was as close to perfect as it could get, Harry decided, when Snape called time. He then swooped around the classroom, making comments about each student pair's potion. Hermione and Neville would have had a perfect potion, were it not for the fact that Neville had made several mistakes while brewing it. Hermione had desperately tried to reverse the mistakes, but the potion had turned an ugly, murky brown color, instead of the required blue.

When Snape arrived at Harry and Draco's table, he nodded shortly. "Well done, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy," he said, and though his tone betrayed no emotion, Harry could tell that he was impressed. Harry swelled with pride. "Five points to Slytherin."

"It was all me, Professor," Draco lied. "I did the brewing, Harry here fetched the ingredients."

"Do not lie to me, Mr. Malfoy," hissed Snape. Harry vaguely wondered how he knew that Draco was lying. "That's one point you've lost from Slytherin."

Snape moved on to Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass's potion, leaving Draco seemingly astonished that Snape had deducted a point from Slytherin.

Harry smiled innocently at Draco; Draco seethed with anger. Harry had earned ten points in total, today—no, nine, since Draco had lost a point for lying to Snape—and he was proud of himself. And he had _impressed_ Snape with his near-perfect potion. It was only the first day, as well; he would improve over time.

And, for a moment, in his feeling of swelling pride—it was just for a moment—Harry forgot all about his problems with Ron and Slytherin and Draco.


	3. Flying Lessons with the Gryffindors

I might not be able to post another chapter for a while; I'm on vacation with my family and am going to be busy.

**Chapter Three: Flying Lessons with the Gryffindors**

His first week at Hogwarts had been rather uneventful, Harry decided, as he sat in the library on Friday morning. He was grateful that the first years had no classes on Fridays; since he knew next to nothing about the Wizarding world, he would use the time to learn about it.

Harry found the material covered in History of Magic quite interesting, though the class itself bored him to death. The Slytherin first years had History of Magic with the Ravenclaws, and Harry had been surprised to see some of _them_ fall asleep in the first class.

Transfiguration seemed interesting, as did Charms, though Harry wasn't yet very good at either. He would practice more, he decided, until he had at least an E in both classes.

The one class that everyone had been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell had turned out to be a bit of a joke. This had disappointed Harry; he had really wanted to learn defensive spells, in the event that he was ever attacked.

Herbology was an interesting class, as well, at least in Harry's opinion. He found the study of magical plants fascinating, and had reread _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ three times already.

Harry had come to the library to work on his Potions essay, about the theory of the Boil Cure potion that the Slytherin and Gryffindor first years had brewed on Monday. It had been assigned on Thursday, to be turned in the _next_ Monday. Harry had chosen Friday, rather than Thursday, to write it, because it gave him the chance to avoid Draco and the other Slytherin boys. Draco and Blaise had gone outside to chase a practice Snitch, Vince and Greg following to act as Draco's bodyguards—again. Harry didn't _want_ to follow Draco and Blaise; he wanted to get decent scores in his classes, and learn more details about the Wizarding world, and prove to Ron that he really _was_ a Gryffindor at heart.

Draco had told Harry that Ron "wasn't worth his effort" during breakfast on Tuesday. Harry had firmly stated that Draco was wrong, and returned to his bacon. But Draco hadn't let the matter go, and would always smirk at Harry every time the Weasleys or Gryffindor House was mentioned. Harry tried to ignore Draco's behavior, but he found it difficult when he was desperately trying to talk to Ron _privately_. He had theorized that perhaps Ron had only acted the way he had on Monday morning because they had had an audience; Ron didn't want people to think that he sympathized with a Slytherin. Of course, this theory had every chance of being incorrect, and Harry knew that. Ron had displayed a rather obvious dislike of Slytherin even before the Sorting; he'd been raised to. He'd considered Harry a friend, and now he thought that Harry aligned with all of his warped views about Slytherin. Many Slytherins, of course, _did_ fit Ron's views. But Harry wasn't one of them. He wanted to make sure that Ron knew this.

Harry lifted his stacks of books on Potions theory, and looked around for an available seat—preferably, away from the Slytherins. He spotted an empty chair across from where Hermione Granger sat, and nodded decisively to no one but himself.

"Hello," Harry greeted as he placed the books on the table.

Hermione glanced up from her roll of parchment to gaze at him. Her expression betrayed next to no emotion, but Harry knew that she was surprised—even a little—that a _Slytherin_ had come to sit with her. "Hello, Harry," she responded eventually. Harry was pleased that he had earned "Harry" instead of "Potter" or "Slytherin".

Harry smiled pleasantly before taking a roll of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink from his bag and opening _Magical Draughts and Potions_ to the chapter about the Cure for Boils Potion. He then opened _The Theory of Potions_ to a page describing what the typical uses for each Potions ingredient were. There were ingredients listed that Harry knew he wouldn't use for at least another few years, and a few that he wasn't even sure he would use at Hogwarts in the first place.

He had just begun his third paragraph when Hermione said, "You're not at all like what Ron says."

Harry lifted his head and frowned at her. "I'm sorry?"

"You're not at all like what Ron says," Hermione repeated. "I always hear him complaining about you in the common room. He's always telling Dean and Seamus that you'd probably do anything to get rid of Gryffindor House and to revive You-Know-Who. But you're here, away from the Slytherins, willingly sitting with a Gryffindor."

"Ron's wrong about me," Harry said simply. "He's prejudiced against Slytherin, that's all. He considered me to be a friend on the train, and then I was Sorted into Slytherin, and he assumed that I aligned with his warped views."

Hermione thought for a moment, and then nodded, but said nothing else. Harry didn't say anything, either, merely finished writing and proofreading his essay. He rolled up the parchment and placed it in his bag, but he didn't put any of the books in his bag or back on their respective shelves. Instead, he read them all in their entirety, as he found Potions to be particularly fascinating.

He returned the books that weren't his own textbooks to the shelves when the bell rang, and made his way to the Great Hall for lunch. A few older Gryffindors seemed surprised that a Slytherin wasn't in a group of other Slytherins. Harry didn't say anything about that. He smiled pleasantly at them, internally chuckling at their expressions of pure shock. Everyone was already surprised that the Boy-Who-Lived had been Sorted into Slytherin, of all Houses. Now, Harry was sure, the Gryffindors would spread rumors that he was trying to gain their trust and spy on them. Harry found that particular train of thought stupid.

He followed the wave of students into the Great Hall, pleased when he saw that Draco and the others were already at the Slytherin table. He could find a seat far enough away from them, and wouldn't face the risk of having _them_ choosing seats near _him_. Blaise, however, when Harry was nearing the Slytherin table, called out, "Potter!"

Harry closed his eyes and sighed before opening them again. He turned his head to face Blaise. "_Yes_, Zabini?"

Blaise didn't answer, but Draco tapped the seat next to him. Harry frowned. Draco had been acting like this the entire week, as if he wanted to be Harry's friend. It would be rude to decline them, Harry knew, whether he wanted to sit with them or not. He sighed again and claimed the seat that Draco had tapped, but he didn't look at or speak to any of his roommates. He grabbed a turkey-and-bacon sandwich from a large platter and took a large bite, ensuring that he wouldn't have to answer any questions. He hoped that they _wouldn't_ ask any questions.

"Where were you this morning, Harry?" Draco asked.

_Just my luck_, thought Harry bitterly. "The library," he replied shortly, moving to take another bite, but Draco asked another question before he could.

"Why didn't you come outside and fly with Blaise and I?"

"Didn't feel like it," said Harry, and took another bite of his sandwich.

"Flying lessons start next Thursday," said Draco, "so you might as well practice. And we have Flying with the Gryffindors, which I know you're looking forward to." He smirked that infuriating smirk of his, but Harry ignored him again.

"We've told you Potter, Weasley isn't worth your efforts," said Blaise, also smirking at Harry.

Harry continued to ignore them.

* * *

Harry had never flown on a broomstick before. Perhaps he _should_ have practiced, he thought as he and the other Slytherins made their way to the training grounds, because now, he had every chance of making a fool out of himself in front of Draco and the others. If that happened, he would deal with it, of course, but he would prefer if it didn't happen at all.

Twenty broomsticks lay on the ground. Harry found himself between Draco and Daphne Greengrass and across from Ron. Harry offered the redhead a weak smile, and received a bitter glare in response. Harry winced slightly. He had tried twice in the past weak to reason with Ron, and Ron had yelled at him and stormed off both times. Harry was beginning to lose hope, but he promised himself that he would try again sometime before October ended.

"Take your places!" Madam Hooch instructed as she walked up between the brooms, ignoring the fact that most of them had already done so. She was a stockier witch than Harry had expected, with hair that looked permanently frazzled, as if it had blown in too many winds to ever calm down. She pivoted in a slow circle as she looked at them, gaze narrowed and slicing over their faces. Harry lifted his chin under her scrutiny, and noticed with amusement that Draco did the same thing, as if they had something to prove. Draco spoiled the effect by catching his eye and grinning, of course.

"Welcome to your first flying lesson," the witch continued. "As we will be controlling the brooms by means of our own magic and not our wands, I must ask you to lay them aside." Harry saw a general rustle as a few students tucked their wands away; Hermione reluctantly put the book she'd been reading back into a huge bag near her feet, then kicked the bag behind her. "As for the procedure of controlling the brooms, it's very simple," Madam Hooch said, and then stalked over to a larger broom laid near the end of the line. "You hold your hand over it and say _Up_."

"Up!"

A ragged chorus of voices gave the command. Some people were more successful than others. His broom leaped up, and Draco's, and Blaise's, and Ron's, and Hermione's. Others made it halfway up and then fell. Neville's smacked into his hand with such force that the plump Gryffindor sat down on the grass. Harry winced.

"Good and not so good," said Madam Hooch, who was, of course, holding her broom. "You must _believe_ in it when you summon the broom, or else it won't work. Take you, Mister Longbottom." She swooped down on Neville, who looked terrified to be singled out, but let her help him sling a leg over the broom. "You have the strength, but no finesse. When you ride the broom—no, not like that—"

But Neville's broom was already rising, and carrying him along. He clung to it and shrieked. Other students began to cat-call or laugh or cry out in worry as was their wont. Harry narrowed his eyes. He could see Neville's hands beginning to slip off the broom, and knew he wouldn't hold on for very long.

Theodore Nott then hopped into his broom, and rose like an expert flyer. He shot across to Neville, and caught his arm. For moment, Neville's weight dragged him towards the ground, and Harry caught his breath in alarm, wondering if Theodore would manage to juggle him. He did, though, and landed on the grass to the cheers of the Gryffindors. Something small and round dropped from Neville's robe and rolled into the grass, too, but Harry doubted that anyone noticed or cared. Theodore's face was flushed with triumph, and Neville was looking at him as if he were the sun.

"Now," said Madam Hooch, showing up beside the two boys so quickly that Harry blinked in surprise. "That was _some_ flying, Mr. Nott." Theodore's flush altered to one of pride, and Harry smiled. He deserved it. Hooch turned to examine Neville, bending down until her nose was an inch away from his face. "What about you, Mr. Longbottom? Set to fly?"

"I—I think—" Neville began, and then fainted dead away.

Madam Hooch snorted, placed her broom gently on the ground, and picked Neville up, nodding to Theodore to carry his feet. "We'll take him to Madam Pomfrey," she said, as they began to walk. "Don't worry about missing the lessons, Mr. Nott, we'll be back in two shakes of an owl's tail, and you've shown that you've got the basics mastered already." She turned around and gave the rest of the students a severe stare from hawk-yellow eyes. "All of the rest of you, _remain on the ground__. _If I find out that anyone has been flying, I can and _shall_ issue detentions."

Harry was happy to remain on the ground. He watched Neville and Theodore pass out of sight, and sighed. That had gone well. Neville had been spared serious injury.

"Look what I've got!"

Harry hissed as he turned around. Draco's voice, speaking in that tone, meant things were _not_ as they should be, or would not be very shortly.

Draco had found the small round thing that Neville had dropped in the grass, and now tossed it in the air, grinning. It landed in his hand with a soft _smack_. That and the red color told Harry it was a Remembrall. He wasn't surprised that Neville had one; the poor boy forgot every ingredient in a potion almost as soon as Snape wrote it on the board. Draco had evidently forgotten something, too.

_Such as not being a git__, _Harry thought, stepping forward. "Give it here, Draco," he ordered, holding out a hand.

Draco grinned at him. Harry blinked. There was no malice in that expression, only a clear and childish delight that puzzled him. If Draco had taken the Remembrall to humiliate Neville, he should have been cracking a joke, or sneering, or in general lamenting the intelligence of Gryffindors as compared to Slytherins. The way he backed away from Harry, holding the Remembrall not quite out of jumping height, argued it was something else.

"Why should I?" Draco asked. "It's not yours. I'll just hang onto it until Longbottom remembers to ask for it. Which would be never." He snickered, and this time Harry heard the sneer in it.

"Give it _back_," said Harry, wishing that he knew how to sound more commanding.

"No, I don't think so," said Draco, and then abruptly hopped a step backwards, grabbed Neville's broom, mounted it, and took off in a dizzying spiral like a lark's. "If you want to come and get it," he called over his shoulder, "please feel free to do so."

Harry ground his teeth for a moment, then darted a glance around. The other Slytherins were watching him, expressions mildly curious. It was the Gryffindors who concerned him, though. Their eyes were narrowed, and they had been about to jump Malfoy themselves, but now they stared at him.

_Show us you're different from the rest of the slimy snakes__, _their gazes challenged him. _Show us that you really would defend Neville like one of your own._

Harry grimaced, cast a quick glance at the school, and raced back to his own broom. When he looked up, Draco was hovering overhead, waiting for him. He swallowed and kicked off from the ground.

Draco was grinning at him again, and though his eyes were narrowed, Harry saw a variant of the same challenge that the Gryffindors had showed.

"Show me what you can do, Harry," he breathed, and then turned and cast the Remembrall in a high, descending arc.

Harry snapped his head forward, eyes locked on the glitter, and then flew after it. The wind shrieked past his ears, and his hand curved out at the proper moment, and he turned, and the Remembrall fell with a triumphant sound into his palm. Harry folded his fingers around it, holding it safe.

He wheeled around to see Draco hastily flying back towards the ground. Harry dropped like a falcon. Madam Hooch was coming back, or she'd sent some other Professor out to supervise the class. Harry cursed quietly as he landed and hopped back from the broom like it was on fire.

Draco strode up to him just before Hooch and Theodore returned, grinning like the idiot he was. "That was impressive," he whispered.

Harry eyed him. Draco seemed perfectly cheerful, as though everything had gone according to plan, but Harry didn't know why. With a shrug, he turned away from the Slytherin and extended the Remembrall as Madam Hooch returned to the training grounds

"Neville dropped this, ma'am," he murmured.

Madam Hooch nodded and pocketed the Remembrall, and class went on.

* * *

Draco grabbed Harry's arm as they were leaving. Harry turned and gazed at him, confused. Draco had seemed oddly satisfied when Harry had caught the Remembrall, and Harry had wanted to sit in the library for the free period the first years had before dinner. He had spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, and every afternoons before then, other than Monday. Not only did the first years have Fridays off, but they also had no classes on Tuesday through Thursday afternoons.

Draco smiled at Harry. "Come on, we have to see Professor Snape."

Harry blinked. "What? Why?"

"Because we do," said Draco, and dragged him off. Harry went with him, steps slow but not actually resisting.

They hurried down a dungeon corridor and towards Professor Snape's office, where Draco knocked importantly on the door. Harry fidgeted nervously. Draco snorted, caught his eyes, and forced him to stop it.

"You're not in trouble," he said. "Quite the opposite."

Harry opened his mouth to ask why, but didn't get to, as Snape's voice said, "Enter," just then, and Draco took the chance to open the door and push Harry inside, ahead of him.

Snape looked up from his essays, eyes narrowing. Draco widened his eyes innocently. Snape wouldn't fall for it, Harry knew, but at least it reassured him that Draco was here in a spirit of mischief, and not because he was in trouble.

"Potter, Malfoy," Snape said, rising to his feet. "Why have you disturbed me?"

Harry just stared. Draco took the chance to talk. "We just came from flying lessons, Professor. Madam Hooch left us alone briefly, and I took the opportunity to test Harry." He smiled at Harry, who still looked bewildered. "I suspected he might be, and he _is._ Bloody amazing on a broom. He caught a Remembrall from fifty feet up and ten feet behind. We've got ourselves a Seeker."

Harry frowned. Draco had brought him to Snape for _this_? He would gladly take the opportunity, if Snape wasn't such a harsh teacher, and if Ron wouldn't hate him more.

"Sir, I'm sorry," said Harry, tensing his shoulders as though he were facing a strong wind. "I didn't know that Draco brought me here for this. I know I wasn't supposed to be flying on a broom while Madam Hooch was gone, and I'll gladly accept my detention."

"As you doubtless know, Potter," said Snape, "first years are not allowed to possess their own brooms, much less allowed on the House Quidditch teams."

Harry looked up. "Yes, sir. I realize that. Again, I'm sorry for interrupting you."

"However," Snape continued, and Harry couldn't help but frown again. He wanted to befriend Ron again, and Ron would think that this was some sort of special treatment for the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry didn't want Ron to hate him, if he didn't already. "Slytherin has been in solid possession of the House Cup for some time now. I do not wish that to alter. If you are truly as good as Draco says, then I would be a fool not to put you on the team. Rules can be bent for a good cause."

Harry tried one more time. One more time, and if it didn't work, than he would accept the offer. "He's probably mistaken, sir. I did dive after a Remembrall, but not from as far away or as high up as Draco says."

"That's right," said Draco.

He received a death glare from Snape, but it lasted only until he added, "It was from sixty feet up and fifteen feet behind. I forgot."

Snape lifted his eyebrows and altered the frigidity of the stare by only a touch. Draco seemed to endure it. Harry was still confused; if Snape was looking at _him_ like that, he would run as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Snape snapped the gaze a moment later, and nodded.

"You will play Seeker on Slytherin's team this year, Potter," he said, and turned away with a dismissive sweep of his robes. "I will speak to Headmaster Dumbledore about it. You need only show up to practice and at games, and then you need only catch the Snitch."

Harry nodded reluctantly. It was an interesting offer, and he was glad that he had the opportunity, but he was already struggling to find time to slip away from Draco and the other Slytherins and go speak to Ron. "Alright, sir. I'll do it."

"You will. Now leave. I must continue grading essays."

Harry nodded again and followed Draco to the door. "Thank you, sir."

He closed the door behind him, and gazed at Draco as the blonde spoke up again.

"Why did you deny that at first?"

Harry shrugged, not wishing to tell Draco his reasons. Draco would only chuckle and smirk at Harry like he always did.

"Because _Weasley_—" he said Ron's surname as if it were a vile curse, "—would hate you for it?"

Harry said nothing, but that seemed to answer the question.

"I've told you, Harry. Weasley isn't worth your efforts. You're a Slytherin, he's a Gryffindor."

"And I've told _you_. I'm not really a Slytherin. The Hat made a mistake. And why are you always following me?"

Draco shrugged. "You're interesting," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "The Boy-Who-Lived in Slytherin. Anyone would wonder about it."

"Everyone _is_ wondering about it. The Slytherins are glad that they have the kid who otherwise would have been the Gryffindor Golden Boy in their House. The Gryffindors think that I'm evil and that there must be some sort of _plot_ afoot, or I otherwise wouldn't want to befriend them. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws haven't really done anything about it—at least, not to my knowledge—but they still whisper about me and they always want to take a good look at me when I pass them in the corridors."

"Of course they do," Draco replied. "Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, in Slytherin. Everyone expected you to be the Gryffindor Golden Boy because you come from a family of Gryffindors, and because you defeated the Dark Lord." They were at the door to the Slytherin common room. Draco said the password—_Salazar_—before he continued. "People have this all-too-simple mindset of Gryffindors being the good guys and Slytherins being the bad guys. That's why I'm glad you're here, Harry. You prove the Gryffindors wrong, and Slytherin gets its glory back."

Harry frowned. The words felt familiar. "That—that's what you told me during the Welcoming Feast."

Draco shrugged again, opening the door to the first year boys' dorm and sitting down on his bed. "It's true." Then he said, "Your magic could be powerful. It has...potential." He winced slightly, then, as if he didn't use the word often. "I can feel it. You could do well with training."

"But that's what Hogwarts is for, isn't it?"

"It is, yes," said Draco, "but you could use some help from a Malfoy."

With that, Draco said no more. Harry leaned back against his pillow, thinking. Was Draco offering to teach Harry magic? Harry had been planning to try to find Gryffindor Tower tomorrow, and attempt to reason with Ron. But he would love the opportunity to learn more magic and more information about the Wizarding world.

He sighed, and asked, "How about tomorrow?"

Draco turned his head, gave Harry a smile that wasn't a smirk, and nodded.


	4. Magic and Arguments

This chapter includes Ron being an idiot, Harry actually learning some shit, and Ron and the rest of the Gryffindors being prejudiced little fucks.

**Chapter Four: Magic and Arguments**

When Harry woke on Friday morning and flung open the curtains surrounding his bed, Draco sat on the edge of his own bed, arms crossed and staring at Harry. He was fully dressed, and entirely expressionless. Harry nodded to the Malfoy in greeting, and mentally sighed when he saw that Blaise was in the dorm. Blaise caught Harry's eyes and smirked. Blaise straightened his tie, then, and exited the dorm, leaving Draco and Harry in the room alone.

Harry stood, and changed out of his pajamas and into his robes. He loosely ties his green-and-silver-striped tie, not bothering to tighten it. He looked to Draco for instructions, something he never thought that he would do. Draco smirked at him; Harry rolled his eyes in response.

Draco stood from his bed and led Harry out of the dormitory and common room, despite the fact that Harry _knew_ the way. Harry ignored this, though, and followed his fellow Slytherin. Draco led him up the stairs, out of the dungeons, and into the Great Hall. Harry couldn't help but glance over at the Gryffindor table as he sat at the Slytherin table and took a piece of toast off of a platter. Ron was engaged in a conversation with Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnigan, and didn't look at Harry or Draco or the other Slytherins even once. It was as if the Slytherin table didn't even exist, the way Ron was acting.

"Potter's staring at you," Harry heard Seamus say, glancing at the Slytherin table.

Ron turned his head to look over his shoulder at Harry, and shot him a sneer that was worthy of Snape or Draco. "Plotting our demise, Potter?" he spat.

Harry smiled thinly but didn't answer.

"Why don't you slither back into your hole, Potter, like a good, boy?" Ron sneered bitterly.

"Oh, look," said Draco, smirking, "the red-and-gold Weasel must have forgotten how to respect his superiors."

Harry rolled his eyes discreetly.

"Oh, I hope you're not talking about yourself, Malfoy, you and your merry band of Death Eaters."

Draco drew his wand. "Oh, I see he _has_ forgotten. Would you like to duel, Weasel?"

Harry reached over and lowered Draco's wrist, so that his wand wasn't pointing at Ron's face.

"Going to curse me yourself, Potter?" Ron said bitterly, before turning back to his breakfast.

Harry finished his toast, and stood from the table. Draco followed suit, placing his wand back into the pocket of his robes. Harry followed Draco out of the Great Hall and up several flights of stairs. Harry recognized the portraits; he and Draco were on the seventh floor. He raised an eyebrow at Draco; there was no place that he could think of, located on the seventh floor, in which he and Draco could practice magic. He knew that the entrance to the Gryffindor common room was up on the seventh floor, having overheard a group of fourth year Gryffindors but he highly doubted that Draco was leading him up to Gryffindor tower.

Draco turned and led Harry down an unfamiliar corridor, the end of which facing a large, plain wall.

Harry turned his head to frown at Draco. "Where are we?" he asked. "I don't see a door anywhere."

His attention was refocused to the wall as Draco paced in front of it three times. When he was finished, a portion of the wall transformed into a large door. Harry watched in wonder.

"Welcome to the Room of Requirement, Harry," said Draco, gesturing and pushing open the door.

Harry stepped into the Room, looking around at the bookshelves and desks and magical training areas. "How did you get in here?" he asked, looking over at Draco, who was smirking proudly."You find the correct wall, pace in front of it three times, and think of what kind of room you want or need—also three times. In this case, I needed a place to learn and teach and practice magic."

Harry looked away and grinned at the room. "Wow."

Draco took a folded sheet of parchment from the pocket of his robes, as well as his wand. Harry drew his own wand. Draco was holding the parchment out to Harry, so he took it, and unfolded it. It was a list of simple spells. _Spells to teach Harry_, the title read. Harry skimmed the list.

_Wingardium __Leviosa_

_Accio_

_Protego_

_Finite Incantatem_

_Incendio_

_Lumos_

_Nox_

_Reducto_

_Reparo_

_Colloportus_

_Alohamora_

_Fumo_

_Specularis_

_Expelliarmus_

_Flipendo (all three iterations)_

Harry looked up from the list to gaze at Draco. "You plan to teach me all of these spells today?"

Draco rolled his eyes, smirking slightly. "Not only_ today_, of course," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Harry felt relief wash through him. He had studied magical theory in the past few weeks, and it was said that understanding the theory of magic was meant to make it easier to learn practical magic, but, despite that, Harry still didn't think that he could learn seventeen spells in one day.

Draco pulled another sheet of parchment from his robe pocket, to show Harry. "_These_ are spells that _I_ wish to learn, and _then_ teach you," Draco stated, before returning the second sheet of parchment to his robe pocket, and taking the first from Harry. He placed it on a table, and pointed his wand at the nearest pillow. "_Wingardium Leviosa_," Draco intoned, and Hary watched as the pillow levitated, and floated a few feet above the wooden floor.

Harry mirrored Draco, pointing his wand at another, identical pillow, and repeated the incantation. "_Wingardium Leviosa_."

Nothing.

Harry sighed, and tried again. He recited the incantation of the Levitation Charm more firmly this time, throwing as much of his will as he could forward. "_Wingardium Leviosa_," he said firmly, his eye contact with the pillow unwavering. That was necessary, Harry had read in _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade One_, when one was first learning a spell, or when they didn't have as much experience _casting_ the spell. More advanced wizards and witches could cast spells without eye contact, but they had to be _skilled_ at said spells. The pillow floated a foot or two off of the ground, Harry's will having forced it to. Harry refrained from grinning, or dropping his focus. He continued to stare at the pillow, wand still pointed, until he saw Draco nod. That was how he mastered spells, then. He had to be firm about it, and had to have control over his will and his magic, in order for the spell to work, at least in the beginning. He hoped that, one day, he would be skilled enough, _powerful_ enough, to cast spells without much thought.

"How did you learn all of these spells before Hogwarts?" Harry asked Draco, frowning slightly.

"I'm a properly trained Malfoy," Draco said simply, as if that explained everything. "All properly trained Malfoys learn spells like these. And wards prevent the Ministry from becoming aware of it."

Draco, seeming to know that, whichever spell he cast next, Harry would also cast it, kept his wand pointed at his own pillow. Instead of the Levitation Charm, however, he snapped, "_Accio_." The pillow zoomed over to Draco, and Draco caught it, and glanced at Harry.

Harry dropped the Levitation Charm, and repeated the incantation, his voice and will and magic still firm. "_Accio_!" The spell still didn't work on Harry's first try, but he tried again. The pillow zoomed straight at Harry's face, and Harry put his left hand up to catch it before it hit him.

"Good, job, Harry," praised Draco, giving his first bit of verbal feedback, and then dropped his pillow onto the floor. "_Protego_."

A translucent, circular shield erupted from the tip of Draco's wand, hovering in front of him, large enough to block his entire body.

Harry mirrored the Malfoy, his own shield weak-looking, small, and, altogether, not very strong. But it was _progress_, and he tried again several more times, until the shield was a bit more powerful.

Draco surprised him by snapping, "_Finite Incantatem_!"

Harry nodded to himself, a small nod, so that Draco wouldn't see—though Draco _did_ seem to see, because he looked over at Harry and smirked—and recited the incantation. "_Finite Incantatem_," he echoed, throwing his will forward, and the shield seemed to dissolve.

When he had successfully cast _Incendio_, Harry had another chance to practice _Finite Incantatem_. _Lumos_ and _Nox_ were easy, and Harry knew that they were first year-level spells, because he remembered reading about them in _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade One_ a few days ago in the library. He learned _Fumo_ and _Specularis _back-to-back, _Fumo _filling the Room of Requirement with smoke, and _Specularis_making a small window of vision and air appear in front of Harry's face. _Reducto_ and _Reparo_ were also learned back-to-back, as well as _Colloportus_ and _Alohamora_, which Harry practiced on a locked chest in the corner of the Room. He then learned _Expelliarmus_ and all three versions of _Flipendo_ by casting them on Draco, who seemed to almost enjoy it.

"Good job, Harry," said Draco, pushing himself off of the ground so he could stand and offer his hand to Harry; Harry shook it, smiling slightly.

"Thanks, Draco," he said. "I'lll be sure to practice."

Draco nodded firmly and exited the Room. Harry moved to one of the bookshelves and sat down at a desk to read a book on dueling magic—both offensive and defensive. When he had reached the end of the book, He returned it to its place on the bookshelf.

"_Point Me_ Ron Weasley," he intoned. He had learned the spell in the first week of classes, when he had gotten lost on the way to Charms and needed to find the other first year Slytherins. He had resolved, that day, to learn the spell, having read about it in the library. He followed the tip of his wand, now, as it spun in the palm of his hand. It led him to another point on the seventh floor: a painting of a large woman wearing a pink dress.

"Hello," he greeted, and she echoed him. If she noticed the Slytherin crest on Harry's robes, and the colors of his tie, then she said nothing about it; Harry was grateful. "Can you please tell Ron Weasley that I'd like to speak with him?" he asked, placing his wand in the pocket of his robes, to convey that he didn't plan on harming Ron.

The woman in the portrait nodded, and disappeared to the other side.

"Thank you," said Harry, even though he was only speaking to an empty painting.

The woman then reappeared on Harry's side of the painting, and the frame swung open like a door as Ron stepped out. When he caught sight of Harry, he glared at him and turned to return to the Gryffindor common room, but Harry stopped him by saying, "Ron, I want to talk to you."

Ron reluctantly turned back around to glare at Harry again. "Fine," he sneered. "Spit it out."

"Why do you hate me?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Because you're a _Slytherin_. I told you already. I thought that we were going to be friends, and then you got yourself Sorted into Slytherin. You're _evil_, Potter, all of you slimy snakes are. You-Know-Who was a Slytherin, after all."

"What about before You-Know-Who began Hogwarts?" Harry asked, having only a small idea of what he would say next, if Ron said what he thought he would say.

"Grindelwald—"

"—attended Durmstrang," said Harry, recalling a tidbit of information he had picked up from a book he'd found in the library. He'd read about the war against Grindelwald, and the war against Voldemort, too. He could easily recall information about both wars, and this was a bit of that. "I'm sure you know what Durmstrang is, Ron. You're the one of us who grew up in the Wizarding world, after all."

"I know what Durmstrang is!" Ron shouted. "Fine, Grindelwald attended Durmstrang. But a bunch of his followers were Slytherins, too, and—"

"'A bunch of,'" Harry echoed. "What about those who weren't?"

Ron growled, which Harry was not expecting. But he ignored it.

"Listen, Potter. You just don't _get_ it, obviously. _All Slytherins are evil_. It's about time you wrap your head around that."

"You're only saying that because that's what you've been told you're entire life. You're spouting out prejudices and warped views and opinions because that's what you've been taught for eleven years. And Merlin was a Slytherin."

"Merlin wasn't a Slytherin!" Ron shouted, stamping his foot as if for extra effect. "He can't have been! Merlin was _good_! He was _Light_! He can't have been in Slytherin! Slytherins aren't good, Slytherins aren't Light!"

"Pick up a book, Ron. There's plenty in the library, and I'm sure there are plenty of biographies about Merlin. I found one there, after all. He was a Slytherin. Get over, it, Ron, accept it. Not all Slytherins are evil, that's just a prejudiced stereotype."

Ron drew his wand, and shouted, "_Flipendo_!" but Harry whipped out his wand, too, and cast a Shield Charm. Ron growled again.

"What now, Ron?" asked Harry. "Are you going to claim that I'm using Dark magic by defending myself?"

Ron grabbed Harry's shoulders and shoved him away. "Leave me alone, Potter!" he yelled.

"You're the one who tried to attack me—"

"I mean stop trying to come and talk to me!" Ron shouted over his shoulder, and muttered something under his breath, too low for Harry to hear; the portrait swung open again. Ron climbed in through the hole in that wall, leaving Harry alone in the corridor, with only the woman in the painting for company. He sighed.

"Thank you," he told the woman again, and she nodded.

"I tried," Harry muttered as he exited that particular corridor, and went down the stairs, heading for the library.

* * *

"_Point Me_ Ron Weasley," Harry whispered as he exited the library, the Merlin biography in his hand. He was unsure as to whether or not this was a good idea, but he let that thought go. Then another thought popped into his head, leaving Harry wondering if Ron would try to attack or due him again, but he shook his head and the thought out of his mind.

The wand led him to a courtyard, where Ron stood, speaking with Dean, Seamus, and Neville. Theodore Nott sat not too far away, looking as if he were being excluded. Harry pocketed his wand; he didn't want to appear a threat. Ron saw him, though, and immediately began to shout.

"I _told_ you, _stop following me_!" he yelled, apparently _wanting_ to make a scene.

Harry said nothing, and held the book out to the angry Gryffindor.

"What's this?"

"It's a book, Ron," said Harry dryly. Theodore Nott chuckled slightly, but stopped when Ron shot him a glare.

"I _know_ it's a book, Potter." He spat Harry's surname as if it were some obscene, vile curse.

"A biography about Merlin," Harry explained, opening the book himself to the page that he had marked, since Ron obviously wasn't about to take it. He pointed to a specific sentence. "See, Ron? Merlin was a Slytherin."

"Oh, sure, he was," Ron growled, rolling his eyes. "You know what I think, Potter? I think that you used a spell on that book, some sort of illusion magic, to make it say that he was a Slytherin, just so you could embarrass me."

"I don't even _know_ illusion magic," said Harry, then took his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the book. "_Finite Incantatem_," he stated. Nothing happened. "No illusion magic."

"You know, I don't think you actually used the spell. I'm sure you just pretended to, but didn't actually cast it. Now go and slither back into your hole, and leave me alone. And take the book with you. I don't want to deal with Slytherins and all of their lies."

* * *

Harry was not looking forward to Thursday morning when he would have double Potions with the Gryffindors, but it came. Of course it came. Class on Monday had been cancelled, because of a nasty explosion on Friday afternoon that took the third year Gryffindor boy the entire weekend _and_ Monday to clean during his detention. He climbed out of bed, and grabbed his clothes, changing out of his pajamas and into his uniform. He placed the necessary textbooks, his Potions ingredients, and his collapsible cauldron into his schoolbag, having already memorized the schedule. Draco, Blaise, Vince, and Greg had already left for breakfast. Draco and Blaise both woke early during the week, and Blaise during the weekends, as well. Greg and Vince had adopted their sleeping schedule.

_I hope there's not going to be any trouble with Ron during Potions_, thought Harry, though he knew it was pointless. Every time Harry earned House points, especially during Potions, Ron always protested, saying that Slytherins didn't deserve House points. And they would be brewing a new potion today, according to Snape: the Forgetfulness Potion. Harry had been doing well in Potions, earning points during each lesson, so Ron would likely have several opportunities to cause a scene.

Harry had arrived at the Great Hall by then, and he deliberately ignored the Gryffindor table as he went to sit down. "Hello, Draco," he greeted, as he piled his plate with bacon. "Zabini. Greg, Vince." He nodded to each of his roommates. Draco nodded, too, in response, and Blaise smirked. Greg and Vince said nothing, but they rarely said anything, anyway. They usually remained silent and expressionless.

He wolfed down his bacon, then took _Magical Draughts and Potions_ out of his bag, opening to the chapter on the Forgetfulness Potion. He finished the chapter quickly, and placed the textbook back into his bag.

Double Defense Against the Dark Arts, with the Gryffindors, was uneventful, as it always was. Quirrell never held a practical lesson, and the classes were almost as boring as History of Magic was.

He made his way back downstairs to the dungeons, after Defense, and was early to Potions. Snape must have been in his office, because he wasn't in the classroom.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry looked up. Snape stood at the door to the classroom, arms crossed. He stared at Harry. Harry felt an unfamiliar, uncomfortable sensation in his mind, a brought a hand up to his forehead. "Professor."

"What are you doing in my classroom at this time?"

"I wanted to be early for Potions class, sir."

Snape looked as if he were about to speak, but then Draco rushed into the classroom, panting. "Harry! There you are, I could couldn't find you."

"Hello, Draco," greeted Harry, letting Draco sit next to him. He saw Snape move from the doorway to his desk.

The rest of the Slytherin first years arrived not too long after Draco did, taking their assigned seats on the right side of the room. When the Gryffindors entered, Ron glared at Harry, then went to find his seat on the left side.

"Today," began Snape, "you will be brewing the Forgetfulness Potion. The instructions—" he flicked his wand, "—are on the board."

Harry read through the instructions three times before beginning the potion. Draco helped with the actual brewing, this time, unlike when the first years brewed the Boil Cure Potion. Snape swept around the classroom, between desks, across asiles, making sneering remarks about the incompetency of the students and how poorly-brewed the potions were—remarks that were primarily directed at the Gryffindors. More specifically, directed at Ron and Neville, whom Snape seemed to particularly hate. Harry watched the Gryffindor side of the classroom, and he watched Snape, and he watched Draco, but he didn't turn his focus from the potion he was brewing.

Snape finally reached the Slytherin side of the classroom, the side closest to the door and the ingredients cabinet, and his comments and remarks turned to those of insult and contempt to tolerance and praise. He announced to the class that Blaise and Daphne's potion was a much better example of a well-brewed potion than Lily and Hermione's. He mentioned, loud enough for the Gryffindors to hear clearly, that Pansy and Millicent's potion had been perfectly stirred, while Ron and Neville had stirred their own potion nine times clockwise instead of the required seven times counterclockwise. When he reached Harry and Draco's desk, he nodded, and announced, "Well, done, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy. Twenty points to Slytherin, each. _This_—" Snape gestured to Draco's cauldron, "—is a proper example of a well-brewed—dare I say, perfectly-brewed—Forgetfulness Potion." Harry refrained himself from staring. Snape had been awarding points to Harry since the first day, after Harry had showed his proficiency in Potions, but twenty points was the most that Harry had earned at once, from any of the professors. He hadn't been expecting it—but, of course, he was grateful.

Ron abruptly stood, as Harry knew that he would. And Draco had earned points, too, so Ron would complain even more. "Potter and Malfoy don't deserve those points. Sir," he added, as if as an afterthought, and Harry could hear the sneer in the Gryffindor's voice. He could _feel_ the sneer, even.

Snape turned slowly to face Ron, and Harry winced slightly; he knew that, whatever punishment Ron was about to receive, it would be rather nasty. "And _why_, Mr. Weasley, is that?"

"Because they're _Slytherins_. Slimy little snakes. Evil, all of them. Including, I'm sure, you, Professor."

Harry stared, now, his gaze flickering between Ron and Snape—and Draco, too, who was grinning in what looked like anticipation.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for blatant disrespect of a professor."

Ron looked as if he were about to protest, and Harry understood. He knew that Ron would lose points, but fifty points taken from Gryffindor was too much. And it was only the third week.

"No," snapped Ron. Harry focused his gaze on the redhead. He was still standing calmly, his chair pushed aside, his hands clasped behind his back, but Harry could see a fire in his eyes, despite the distance: the same fierce, anti-Slytherin fire that Harry had seen during his first argument with Ron in the Great Hall, and during his second argument with Ron outside of the Gryffindor common room, and during his third argument with Ron in the courtyard.

Snape sharply snapped his gaze back to Ron, who didn't even flinch. Harry would, under that gaze.

_But Ron is a Gryffindor. And you aren't_, whispered a sly voice in the back of Harry's mind that Harry distrusted; it sounded like the voice of a snake, or a Slytherin.

"_What_ did you say?"

"I said 'no,' Professor," snapped Ron, his calm mask fading. "You're not going to take fifty points away from Gryffindor. So take those points from Slytherin—Merlin knows they don't deserve them—and give us Gryffindors our well-deserved points back."

"One hundred points from Gryffindor for telling a Professor how to do their job."

"_NO_!" Ron roared, lunging at Snape. As he stepped away from the furious Gryffindor, Snape took another hundred points from Gryffindor for attempting to attack a professor. Gryffindor House's point count was in the negatives, now; Harry winced. Ron stamped over to the Slytherin side of the room, knocking Draco's cauldron over so that the potion spilled all over the Malfoy heir. He then turned on Snape again. "Not so perfect now, huh?" he shouted.

"Weasley, you've earned yourself detention for the rest of the school year. Eight o'clock, my office, even during the holidays. Yes, Weasley, you have detention on Christmas Day."

"Well, I won't show up! _I_ don't _deserve_ detention! _Potter and Malfoy_ deserve detention! They're _Slytherins_, they're _evil_!"

Ron then turned and left the classroom.

"Class dismissed," snapped Snape. "Potter, Malfoy, you've still received full marks for today." Harry and Draco nodded.

Harry stood from his and Draco's desk and followed the other students out of the classroom. He waited for Draco outside of the door, however, while Snape magically repaired Draco's robes and sweater-vest. When Draco caught up to him, Harry headed to the library. Unfortunately, however, he ran into Ron.

"Stop _following_ me, Potter!" Ron shouted.

"I'm not following you, Ron," said Harry calmly. "I'm just trying to get to the library. It's your own fault if you just so happen to be in one of the corridors on the way there." Harry nodded, as if to signal that this conversation was _over_, but the two Gryffindor fourth year boys who were with Ron, who must have had a free period, stepped in front of him, blocking him from continuing down the corridor.

"Ron here told us a _very_ interesting story, Potter. He told us how you dumped a defective Boil Cure Potion over his head at the beginning of Potions, and he had to go to the hospital wing."

Draco stepped forward from behind Harry's right shoulder. "Well, Spinnett, if Weasley decided that he can get away with lying at the expense of a Slytherin, then perhaps he _does_ deserve a defective Boil Cure Potion dumped over his head."

Joseph Spinnett glared at Draco. "You know what, Malfoy—?"

"Draco—" Harry tried, but Draco cut him off with a sharp glance.

And, out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron draw his wand, and Harry drew his own wand.

"_Stupefy_!"

"_Flipendo_!"

Both Harry and Ron flew backwards, landing on the stone floor of the corridor. Harry saw Professor McGonagall approach.

"_What_ is going on?" she demanded, looking between Harry and Ron.

"Potter attacked me, Professor," said Ron, pointing an accusing finger at Harry, who still hadn't found a chance to stand up. "I tried to defend myself, but he was using Dark magic—"

"The _Flipendo_ is not Dark magic, Weasley," Draco interjected. "And, as I recall, it was _you_ who first pulled your wand. _You_ cast the first spell, Weasley. Harry was only trying to defend himself."

"Fifteen points from both of you," said McGonagall firmly, glancing between Harry and Ron again. "Though, as I am aware, Mr. Weasley, Gryffindor House is ready in the negatives, due to your outburst during Potions."

As McGonagall left to do...well, whatever she was leaving to do, Harry saw Draco smirk at Ron. He couldn't stand Draco, sometimes, just like he couldn't stand Ron, sometimes, and having Draco and Ron hate each other was just another problem.


	5. Albus Dumbledore, Interfering Headmaster

Here we go. Another chapter. Oh, and I've added chapter names, now

**Chapter Five: Albus Dumbledore, Interfering Headmaster**

Albus watched through the window of his office as the boy—the boy who _must_ have been Harry—exited the castle and made his way across the ground to where Albus knew Hagrid lived. He nodded decisively. There were other plans that might work just as well as the one Albus had in mind at the moment, but he wasn't entirely certain whether or not he hid the time to think of one.

And this was the best course of action, it had to be, because no one was going to follow the Boy-Who-Lived if he was in Slytherin. The prejudices were far too strong, and far too widespread, to dissolve simply because Harry Potter was a Slytherin.

_Prejudices formed because of a nightmare of your own creation_, whispered a voice in the back of Albus's mind, but he ignored it. Tom had chosen his own path.

The Sword of Gryffindor was another option, Albus acknowledged as he descended staircase after staircase, but it was too private of a test. No one but he and Harry would know whether or not the boy was burned by the Sword. And even if he wasn't, even if he _could_ wield it painlessly, it could take _years_ to convince the other students so, and even longer to convince the Gryffindors. Young Ron Weasley was leading the Gryffindors in a sort of tirade against Harry already, and it was only the third week of classes. He had even lost Gryffindor all of its points and more, due to his outburst in Potions. Of course, at least in Albus's opinion, two hundred and fifty points and detention for the rest of the year was a bit too harsh of a punishment. Just the detention would have been adequate. Albus had spoken to Severus about it, leading to the Potions Master's inevitable sting of accusations that he favored Gryffindor House.

Albus shook his head. That had been rather hypocritical of Severus, considering that fact that _he_ would favor Slytherin House, were he Headmaster, and that he already did, anyway.

Albus quieted his thoughts as he stopped by a tree outside of Hagrid's hut, concealed by a Disillusionment Charm that was virtually undetectable. Now he just had to wait for Harry.

* * *

Harry had managed to sneak away from the Slytherin common room without too much of a fuss from Draco, and he had managed to avoid the still-seething Gryffindors on his way upstairs and out of the castle. He had asked an older Ravenclaw for direction, and Harry hoped that they hadn't been anti-Slytherin enough to point him in the wrong direction. But he came across a large hut that looked as if it would belong to a man Hagrid's size. He grinned and knocked.

The door opened enough for Harry to catch a glimpse of Hagrid pulling a large black dog back away from the door. Hagrid glanced out of the small gap between the door and the wall. "Harry!" he exclaimed, grinning broadly at Harry. Harry's own smile grew as he entered the hut and hugged Hagrid. Hagrid returned the affection, pulling Harry against him in a bone-crushing hug.

"Hello, Hagrid."

"How are yeh, Harry?" asked Hagrid as he moved aside so that Harry could properly enter the hut and take a seat at the large table.

"I'm doing well," said Harry, taking note of the smile Hagrid shot him in response. "I wanted to ask you a question."

"Well, then, ask away," said Hagrid, sitting down in the chair opposite Harry and offering him a cup of already-prepared tea.

"Do you think I'm evil because I'm in Slytherin?" Harry asked nervously, voicing his question for the first time.

"'Course not!" exclaimed Hagrid, appearing somewhat offended that Harry had even considered the possibility. "Yer pal Ron came down to my hut a few times, to convince me that yeh were, but I didn' believe it."

Harry let out a sigh, relieved, and said, "Thanks, Hagrid. But I don't think that Ron's my friend anymore. He seems to really hate me."

"Well, I could try to convince him otherwise, if he comes back down here again, but he gave up trying when I told him that I don' think that yer evil."

Harry nodded.

"But enough about that," said Hagrid, attempting to change the subject as he poured himself some more tea. Harry took a sip of his own. "How have your classes been goin'?"

"Alright," replied Harry, shrugging. "I'm doing really well in Potions. I suppose I have the Dursleys to thank for that, having me follow a bunch of complicated instructions. Draco Malfoy and I...well, you could sort of say that we're friends, I suppose, but I'm not sure. He says that he think's that I'm interesting. That my magic has 'potential.'"

"Well, I'm not gonna try and stop yeh from bein' friends with him. I don' like the Malfoys—Lucius was a pain in the arse when he was at Hogwarts, and, o' course, he used to be a Death Eater—but I'm not gonna choose yer friends for yeh."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Hagrid." He was unsure as to whether Draco wanted to be Harry's friend or not. He certainly spent a lot of time with Harry, and had taken to defending him from the Gryffindors, and of course he had taught Harry magic, but Harry found the idea of friendship with Draco a little...well, a little strange. Draco's father had served Voldemort. Voldemort had killed Harry's parents. But he pushed those thoughts out of his head and told Hagrid all about his classes, how his scar twinged whenever he was near Quirrell—Hagrid frowned at that, wondering why; Harry wondered why, too, and asked Hagrid if he should be suspicious of Quirrell.

"If he does anything to hurt yeh, Harry, then yeh should suspect him, but Quirrell isn' dangerous, as far as I know. Are yeh sure that it's Quirrell who makes your scar hurt? Have you noticed anyone following him everywhere, anyone who's always with him?"

Harry shook his head. "If I have, I don't remember it. And I would probably remember it, don't you think? I would think it suspicious, and I would remember."

Hagrid's frown deepened, and he nodded. Then he glanced at his watch, and told Harry, "It's almost one, yeh should probably get back up to the castle if yeh don't want to miss lunch. It was nice seeing yeh, Harry."

"It was nice seeing you, too, Hagrid." He was almost to the door when he remembered. "Oh, Hagrid!" he exclaimed, spinning back around to face Hagrid. "Can you be sure to come to the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch game on November ninth? I'm playing as Seeker, and I want you to see me play."

Hagrid's frown disappeared at once, replaced by a broad grin. "Seeker! Why, that's amazin', Harry! I'll be sure to be there. See yeh!" He waved as Harry pushed open the door and left. Harry waved back.

"See you, Hagrid!"

Harry turned, the door closing behind him, and had to refrain himself from jumping. "Headmaster Dumbledore! What are you doing here?" Then, realizing that that probably sounded disrespectful, he tried to rephrase the question, but Dumbledore cut him off with a single glance—and a bit of magic, Harry realized, because his head hurt a bit, as though a slight breeze was trying to push itself into Harry's mind.

"Come with me, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly, seeming to ignore Harry's surprise that the _Headmaster_, of all people, had used his first name. He nodded to Harry and began to walk.

Harry followed, and asked. "Do you need to speak to me, sir?" he asked nervously, hoping that he wasn't in trouble. Of course, he would have known if he was; he would have been alerted that the Headmaster wanted to speak to him about behavioral issues or problems with his grades, but he couldn't help but wonder.

"You could say that," said the Headmaster, oddly informal.

Harry frowned, but he followed Dumbledore without objection; if he did object, at least verbally, then he probably _would_ be in trouble. Dumbledore led him up to a staircase guarded by a gargoyle, which Harry realized at once _must_ have been the method used to distinguish passwords.

"Sugar quills," said Dumbledore, and Harry was just about to question it when the gargoyle slid aside and the unblocked the stairs. Dumbledore glanced at Harry and said simply, "I rather enjoy sweets."

Harry nodded slowly, following Dumbledore up the staircase into what must have been the Headmaster's office. Once inside, Dumbledore crossed to a shelf, and pulled down what Harry recognized at once as the Sorting Hat. "The—the Sorting Hat, sir?"

Dumbledore gave him a small smile and nodded, holding the Hat out for Harry to take. "I plan to get you reSorted into Gryffindor, Harry, for I don't think that many people will follow the Boy-Who-Lived if he is in Slytherin."

Harry wanted to protest. Dumbledore could have at least asked his permission before planning this. Harry had a friend in Slytherin! Well, as far as he knew. He mostly considered Draco a friend now, even if he wasn't sure whether or not that was the correct term to use. And Draco had promised to teach Harry more magic, as well; he wouldn't keep that promise if Harry went to Gryffindor. But then he realized that just because Dumbledore _planned_ to have him reSorted into Gryffindor didn't mean that Harry would actually _go_ to Gryffindor. He allowed that knowledge to comfort him, at least a bit, as Dumbledore waved his wand and instructed Harry to place the Hat on his head.

The Hat didn't speak into Harry's mind, as it had on the night of the official Sorting Ceremony. Perhaps Dumbledore had instructed it not to, so that Harry couldn't convince it to place him in Slytherin again—

"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat bellowed, and Harry caught a glimpse of Dumbledore's calm mask changing to an expression of panic for just a moment, before the calm expression was back in place. Harry allowed himself a small smile, but hid it when Dumbledore glanced at his face.

"Surely, you must be upset, Harry?" he asked, but Harry recognized the tactic. Dumbledore was trying to guilt him into wanting Gryffindor. He would reSort him again, and make him beg for Gryffindor, and the Hat would place him there.

But Harry shook his head. "No, sir. I've found—well, sort of a friend in Draco Malfoy, and I don't think that he would want to continue that relationship if I was Sorted into Gryffindor."

"But what about your friendship with Mr. Weasley? Would you not take the chance to repair your relationship?"

"I would, sir, if Ron wanted to, as well. But I don't think he would. He seems to really hate me, sir. 'Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin,' he says. With all due respect, I don't think that a reSorting is going to change anything between Ron and me."

Dumbledore sighed. "Very well. You may leave, now, Harry."

Harry nodded. "Goodbye, sir."

The first thing that Harry did once he was out of Dumbledore's office was attempt to find Draco. He had searched all of the seventh floor and a third of the sixth when he remembered that he was able to cast the _Point Me_ Charm. He was tempted to hit his head against the wall as punishment for his own foolishness. He resisted the impulse though, and drew his wand, placing it in the palm of his hand. "_Point Me_ Draco Malfoy," he said clearly, watching as the wand spun in his palm. He ran down staircases, careful not to drop his wand, as it spun, pointing him in the correct directions.

Draco was in the library, writing the essay that Quirrell had assigned them on the basic theory of defensive magic.

"Headmaster Dumbledore tried to reSort me," said Harry quietly, not wanting to get thrown out of the library. He wanted to yell, though, and properly express his annoyance.

"He did _what_?" exclaimed Draco, earning a loud "Shush!" from Madam Pince. Draco rolled his eyes at the librarian, but his expression changed entirely when he glanced back at Harry.

"He tried to get the Sorting Hat to put me in Gryffindor. It didn't work though, but then he tried to guilt me into begging for Gryffindor."

"Well, I'm glad that it didn't work," said Draco. "I told you, Harry. You really are a Slytherin."

"I _knew_ it!"

Harry snapped his head around to see Ron standing by where Harry and Draco sat, entirely ignoring Pince's shushes.

"What do you want, Weasley?" demanded Draco rudely.

Ron ignored him and instead turned on Harry. "I _knew_ it, Potter. I was _right_. You _are_ a Slytherin, you _are_ evil!" And with, that, Pince's annoyance following him on the way, he stomped out of the library, shooting a sharp glare over his shoulder at Harry as he pushed the door open.

Draco rolled his eyes again. "Ignored him, Harry," he instructed. "He's right about you being a Slytherin, though. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin." He left it at that, ignoring Harry's expression of surprise that _Draco_ had actually agreed with _Ron_.


End file.
